Not Ready
by Ms. International
Summary: Arthur's contemplating on what life's gonna be like the minute he gives birth. Oh God. (Mpreg. No likely, no read. Warned you.)


Arthur lay sprawled on the soft comforter of the bed, thoughts swirling around his head randomly; but every once in a while though, he would think about the twins, who were both currently kicking. Strong on the left, weaker on the right.

It worried him.

The doctor had assured though that if Arthur didn't do anything dangerous like drinking or smoking or if no harmful thing ever came to him over the last few months, then there was absolutely _**nothing**_ to worry about at all. And there was absolutely _**nothing bad**_ during the last eight months. Francis liked to think that it was Arthur's 'maternal' instincts. Yeah, right.

The Brit stretched over and opened the bedside table drawer. Inside was a scrapbook of pictures and memoirs from the past few months. (Of course, it was Francis's idea. Arthur never really agreed to it, but decided to just follow along. It was fun, anyway.) He lovingly ran a hand through the pages, turning each one slowly. He stopped though, at the latest page.

It was of two black and white blurry pictures, the quality not at all very good, but as long as he could still see his children, well, it was okay. He traced a finger along the faint outlines of a baby's body.

It was the ninth month, the last and final stage of his pregnancy. Part of him was glad. No more mood swings, cravings for weird stuff, morning sicknesses, the aching back and swollen feet, the constant heat... But then, he was also scared. The babies could be born any day now, and then, he would take the giant leap towards motherhood. Or fatherhood. Parenthood, whatever.

No more going out to pubs and getting drunk like the old days, no more late nights doing who-knows-what, no more days of just relaxing or sleeping in or just lazing about and doing whatever he wanted for a whole day, and no more days of just having sex with Francis from morning 'till night. He wasn't sure if he was ready for this.

After that fateful day, his life would soon be filled with nothing but his children. Taking care of them, playing with them, protecting them, teaching them, giving them nothing but the best in life, providing all of their needs, and then watching them grow up to be responsible adults. God, he wasn't ready.

A single tear fell on one of the pictures. Goddamn it, he was getting all emotional again! He wiped away a tear just before a sob escaped his throat and he started full on weeping. Oh, the _**hormones**_.

Francis took measured steps towards the bedroom, lest he wake Arthur and face an angry rabbit.

When he opened the door though, with a gentle click and a "Bonjour," he was surprised to see a crying husband on the bed and not an annoyed, red-in-the-face, whiny husband.

"Cher?" The Frenchman opened the door wider and let himself in. It was quite dark; with only the curtains being partially drawn, and the bedside table lamp giving off a faint yellow light.

He toed off his leather shoes, walking slowly to the center of the room. Arthur's sobs pulled at his heart. The man never cried, but whenever he did, it was heart wrenching.

He knelt down before the man and took the Brit's hands in his, before brushing away the tears.

"Cher, what's wrong?"

Sad green eyes eyed him for a moment, before they shut again and Arthur nearly threw himself at the blonde.

"I-I'm not ready! I'm not ready to give birth and take care of our children! I'm not ready to-to protect them with my whole being! I'm not-"

Francis pulled his petit lapin into an embrace. Arthur readily accepted it, gripping his shoulders as if it were his lifeline. The Francophone rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"Coeur, it's okay. It's okay. I'm not ready either-to become a father-", to which he stopped for a moment, and like a brick to his head, he realized that any day now, he was going to become a _**parent **_himself. He smiled, before continuing again.

"-but I will always be here. Always. I'll be here for our children, for you, for everything as we travel the hard but enjoyable path of parenthood." He paused for a moment.

"We are married, yes?" he asked, mentally silencing the Brit's thoughts of doubting his words.

Arthur gave a small nod, his sobs growing quieter.

"And I made a vow. So there. We're sticking to each other until the end of time."

It was silent for a moment, with only the ticking clock and they're own breathing the only sounds in the room.

"Bloody frog. You're getting me overly emotional again," Arthur muttered into his shirt, giving his husband a playful punch in the shoulder.

Francis chucked. _There was his Arthur_. His 'tsundere' Arthur. (As Kiku put it)

He cocked his head to the side, before contemplating all that they had been through and what was yet to come.

"Oi! Are you listening or what?" Arthur's voice pulled him back down to reality.

And so, Francis listened as Arthur told him about how the twins would always stop kicking the minute he was with Arthur, the Brit exclaiming that it was like 'magic'.

Arthur gave birth two days later. Both couldn't have been happier to welcome their two bundles of love into the world.


End file.
